


Exsolvo

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [21]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bodily Fluids, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Original Character(s), Sex Toys, Temporary hyperspermia, Wet & Messy, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 08:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17936069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: “I know that it is,” James says, “like Ireallyknow that it is and, trust me, you’re really good at tempting me to do it but I want to dothisfor you. You know? What you asked for when you thought about it.” He slides the zipper of Steve’s hoodie down, slowly enough that it’s almost tooth by tooth, slowly enough that it’s a clicking sound instead of the usual rasp. Then he finds that Steve’s tucked his tee into his pants. “And it’s so great that you’re military about literally everything, seriously. You put army corners on your goddamn t-shirt.”“Excuse you,” Steve answers, “my mother was a nurse. They were hospital corners years before they were army corners.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Today there are a lot of notes but I’m hoping you guys read them. 
> 
> Sorry for the long gap since you saw me last - I've been dealing with some anxiety and depression stuff, it happens, but just a reminder that my con crit policy is 'this isn't a writing workshop or a commission'--don't like it, don't read it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for the warnings! In this installment, the continued healing of Steve including: More of Steve’s cal-horrific eating habits, reasonably detailed descriptions of healing wounds, very detailed descriptions of cocks and bodily fluids related to cocks, very mildly dubious-consent issues that are discussed without any harm actually having been done. This chapter does not include waking someone by doing-the-sex on them, or doing-the-sex to a sleeping person. If you’re unsure, skip to the end notes of this chapter for a spoilery summary before proceeding.
> 
> Thank you to Kelsey, Luci, Rene, and Zepys for your advice on this chapter, as well as Petronella, some US lingo checks by various others (there are lots of you and I’m grateful), and a confidence booster from Bast and Shine. Anyone who doesn’t like what’s going on, that’s on me - I was given advice but didn’t listen to all of it. Again though, it’s been nice and thanks for your time, the back button’s that way if you need it <=

James wakes to a gentle chiming sound, and a small readout on the glass surface of the bedside table, that’s glowing blue like the screen of his phone. In fact, bleary-eyed and pulled from sleep, he thinks at first that it _is_ his phone. It’s only that he can’t pick it up when he tries that makes him push up onto one elbow and squint down at it. 

In small, glowing blue on the glass, are the words,

’ _P OTENTIAL SLEEP PARALYSIS_’

Underneath this is Steve’s current heart and respiratory rate compared with the same readout from ten minutes ago. There’s been an uptick.

James, spurred into action, turns over and looks down at Steve, reaching out to touch the little touch lamp on the nightstand. He only takes it as far as the first brightness level - it’s not much but neither of them will need much coming from pitch blackness. He looks down at Steve to check for outward signs of distress - sleep paralysis, Jarvis tells him, doesn’t necessarily manifest obviously. It’s literally that thing your body does to keep you from sleepwalking, only it’s doing it when you want to wake up. So it’s unlikely James is going to see Steve tossing and turning and making general distressed noises or movements or whatever. 

Steve is asleep. Because of course he is. He’s lying still, on his back, with his eyes closed, the way he went to sleep (James looks back at the display) four hours ago. His head and shoulders are propped up by the cushion, one arm up on the pillow from where he’d draped it over his face, the other down by his side from where he’d been holding James’ fingers. His expression is calm, his breathing is even and- 

_Hello!_

Steve’s hard enough that his dick’s changed the drape of the sheet to be unmistakable. James almost prods it to make sure it’s not a fold in the fabric but he knows it’s not a fold in the fabric. Also that would be a bad idea. James sort of looks at him and takes him all in and then debates waking Steve because, y’know. Obviously something’s going on in that head, and it doesn’t necessarily look like he’s not enjoying it, but a body’s reaction isn’t necessarily the right one. Maybe he’s having a nightmare and it’s coincided with a reflex or something, James doesn’t know. 

“Is this definitely sleep paralysis?” James says. 

There’s another gentle chime, and James looks back.

’ _P OTENTIAL INDICATED BY CURRENT_  
_H EART AND RESPIRATORY RATES._  
_F URTHER MONITORING IS NEXT LEVEL_  
_P RIVACY PROTOCOL.’_

“Jarvis,” James says softly, “can you tell if he’s dreaming?” 

There is a pause. 

_‘C URRENT BRAINWAVE ACTIVITY SUGGESTS SO.’ _

James nods. He’s is torn between doing something and not doing something. It seems unlikely that this is sleep paralysis, from what James has read, because Steve is lacking symptoms. James even watched like videos from sleep clinics and stuff, and read up on it and everything. He knows some stuff, but then he’s not a doctor or a sleep tech or anything. So he’s not sure.

But then Steve makes a noise, low and long, almost like a hum, except that it finishes with a kind of gravelly little sigh on an upward inflection. 

James has heard Steve make that noise before. 

That’s not distress. 

So _then_ James’ first, immediate and only thought is to watch, because Steve’s having a sex dream and hasn’t had sex for weeks, and James knows how that might end. 

“Thank you, Jarvis,” he murmurs, “pause monitoring,” and the little blue light disappears. 

There are a couple of ways he can do this, he knows. He could wake Steve and maybe give him a handjob if they can get that far. He could wake him and offer to blow him if they can manage. But, then again, he wants to see what happens if Steve’s own mind stimulates him so much that he can come without being touched. James _wants_ to see it, wants to see what Steve’s body can do by itself, and he _likes_ looking. This way, he gets to look at Steve with his undivided attention, he gets to watch his favorite person enjoying himself completely and totally, without intervention or distraction. 

He bites his lip and flexes his hand, glances at Steve’s sleeping face. Carefully, he curls his fingers around the edge of the sheet and draws it down Steve’s body, from his waist to his knees. It feels illicit, like he’s revealing a secret. Like he’s uncovering treasure so important he can’t be reverent enough about it. 

Steve’s body is a work of art, even though it was made by someone else. Steve maintains it, Steve uses it, Steve lives his life in that body and he’s gorgeous from head to toe. It’s a privilege and a dream come true to get the chance to look at him like this, and so James does. He just looks at Steve, at all of Steve. He _wants_ all of him. He wants the dark blonde hair that's mussed up with sleep, the gray at his temples, the swoop that’s longer now with the lack of grooming, and the touchable strands hanging over his skin that James’ fingers itch to brush aside. He wants the strong brow and high cheekbones, the soft, plump lips that part gently as he watches them. 

James wants to taste them, to slide his tongue between them and swallow the kind of sounds Steve will give him - the kind that he hasn’t had the chance to take for too long. 

Steve’s broad chest rises and falls, his tags shifting slightly, and James follows the lines with his eyes, looks at the collar bones and down to his nipples. It still amazes him that one of them is _new,_ the flesh _regrown,_ is pinker and sits in the middle of a patch of paler skin on his pectoral - one of four patches of paler skin. James watches both of them darken in front of him, watches the areola of one pucker, pushing the small pink nub upward at the center, turning it dusky - watches the other, the new one, do the same, the newer flesh brightening, red with blood as it strains against the cooler air. 

James wants his mouth on them, to tongue at them until Steve’s arching his back and gasping, to suckle against them until Steve whines and holds James’ head close with his big fingers curled in James’ hair. 

It’s been so long since he got to have Steve’s hands in his hair pull him closer that way. 

He looks at the sharp angles of the base of Steve’s ribcage, stark against his skin, and the gentle ridges of his toned stomach. He looks at the curve - James loves this curve, the sweet, gentle, gorgeous, kissable curve - of Steve’s lower stomach as it slopes down towards the slowly thickening length of his cock and the soft, full swell of flesh nestled between thick, muscled thighs on which it rests. 

The cleft head has already begun to peek out from Steve’s generous foreskin, and James knows his cock has moved because it’s further from the freckle it was resting near when James drew the sheet down to start with. It’s filling slowly, getting thicker and longer as the seconds tick by, and James watches it happen, watches the subtle shift and change. 

Steve’s mouth is open and he breathes differently now - more audibly, a change from the quiet he slept in before. Each inhale is not quite a gasp, each exhale just a little more than a sigh, a gap before the next that’s just a little longer than James might expect. The rise and fall of his chest is not so gentle, not so smooth - instead the movement is sharper, stronger, and James’ eye is drawn to a flicker of shadow on Steve’s inner thigh. 

He lies still apart from that, in the motionlessness of sleep. His fingers don’t twitch, his head doesn’t turn, he just breathes in a way that’s less relaxed than he might otherwise be, in a way that James probably wouldn’t even notice if he weren’t looking for every little thing. 

There’s the flicker of shadow again and James realizes it’s the instinct, the reflex, to push up into whatever illusion is pleasuring him inside the dream, the muscles flexing as he strains in fantasy, reality keeping him immobile. James can see more of it as he watches for it, flickers in the tendons of his wrists although the fingers don’t move, a change in the shape of his thigh although he doesn’t shift at all.

James squeezes his own cock to take the edge off - just watching Steve’s enough to get his blood up. 

Steve’s cock still moves, filling by increments, so slowly that James almost can’t track it, but the head swells further, moisture beading at the tip. Steve hasn’t had a full erection for a while now, but James thinks it might manage this time, thinks the considerable effort it’s making might pay off. He knows, if it does, that there’ll come a point where it shifts and stands, where it will stop dragging against Steve’s thigh and jut upwards, thick and proud. James’ cock stands perpendicular to his body, rigidly straight when it’s fully hard, at ninety degrees like a fuckin’ towel rail or a maypole depending on whether he’s standing up or lying down. But Steve’s, oh, Steve’s beautiful cock arches toward his belly when he’s fully erect, curving upward in a gorgeous shallow arc from root to tip, to kiss at his belly button. 

If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen soon, and James stares, fascinated, as it swells further, grows even as he watches. Length and girth increase, it rests higher on his thigh, the shadows deepen beneath the head as the foreskin finally retracts completely. The shaft is lengthening, becoming more rigid as the foreskin rolls back a little more, and the way he breathes is beginning to affect his body, ribs pressing starkly against his skin, stomach dipping down behind sharp hipbones. 

The swell of flesh between his legs has lost its pliable appearance, balls drawing upward, the skin tight over them now where it was loose before, the heavy weight of them pulled close to his body in arousal - it’s almost smooth, the skin, darker than his thighs but soft, and so touchable - and Steve’s breaths definitely come faster, the first definite change in rhythm. Each gasp draws his stomach in, though his limbs and his head and his expression are still, and then Steve’s cock seems to reach its tipping point, full enough that it shifts on his thigh and moves. It drags itself over the place where his thigh meets his torso as it hardens, sideways across that shallow, kissable curve, and lifts itself, thick and heavy in pleasured lethargy, to hover over his stomach, drooling on his skin. Steve’s breaths are quick and deep now though there’s no further hint of his voice, strong and fast enough that the bed creaks though he never even twitches his fingers. 

He’s close, James knows he is, and he can’t look away, can’t help but be fascinated as Steve’s breathing reaches fever pitch, stomach concaving over and over, from the silence of a normal nighttime to the desperate, heaving gasps of Steve’s lungs working instinctively while the rest of his body is completely still. 

His breathing shudders, the muscles jump in his thighs and then, like some sort of magic, like a fantasy, completely without contact or outside stimulation, Steve’s cock lifts and falls, lifts and falls, and finally, finally he comes, painting his stomach with his own release as the muscle contractions of his orgasm lift his cock over and over. 

He breathes like he’s just run a marathon, unregulated by self-control, unfettered by personal preference. He gasps and gasps, breaths hitching and shuddering, and moves not at all aside from the lift and fall of his cock - James has missed the sight of it, the way it grows steadily darker from root to tip, the way it curves, the thick bulge of the underside, the tapered swell of the head. 

It takes a lot longer than a normal orgasm, presumably because he’s not able to shake himself out of it, he’s not able to make it stop until it stops by itself. He just has to ride it out, just has to take it, and take it, can’t slow it or stretch or stop whatever image his mind is showing him. James doesn’t even consciously move his hand, he just _does_ it, uses one warm, gentle palm to cup Steve’s balls in his hand and feel the way the muscles pulse under his fingers as spurt after spurt after spurt splashes onto Steve’s stomach, as his cock lifts and falls, over and over. 

It doesn’t drool or pour, it comes too strongly for that - James has _never_ seen this. More, and more of it, almost-opaque white lines across his abs, his hips, up his chest, there’s so much it slides off his body, and, God, he’s gorgeous, it’s gorgeous, it’s even better than James thought it would be. Steve’s breathing is so _loud_ too - James thought it might just be silence, that Steve might lie still until his cock swung upward and he came, but it’s not so. It’s as though Steve is trying to cry out, as though he’s shamelessly wanton, as though he’s trying to beg for more or for mercy and hold himself together while he falls to pieces, but has no voice with which to speak. 

More, and more, as his cock leaps against his stomach, hot flesh shifting under James’ palm, more as his chest heaves, his mouth open, lips dry with the force of his breaths, cock still spurting come.

More, and still more, until finally the rhythm slows, the pulsing tapers to a stop and his cock shifts less often, not quite so desperate, lifting and falling, a pause before it lifts and falls again, less defined than it was at his peak. Nothing else is forthcoming - for the moment, he’s run himself dry - and James looks at him as his breaths slow, as sweat glistens on his chest, come and precome on his stomach, pooling in his navel and in the grooves between his abs, his cock gleaming wet with it, soaking into the bedsheets where it’s run down his waist, spilled over his hips.

Holy shit, wow. James didn’t know he had a thing for this.

Steve’s nipples stay hard, the uninjured one the same dusky rose, the new one the same, bright, blood red, and James presses his free hand to the front of his own boxers, where his own neglected cock is showing considerable enthusiasm, wets his lips because they’re dry because he was breathing kinda funny along with Steve.

It’s over, or nearly over anyhow, and James wants to see it again, wants Steve to let him see everything, to let him- 

Let him- 

James is immediately overcome by a wave of guilt, even as Steve seems to settle once more - he just uncovered, watched and touched Steve without Steve’s consent. He just uncovered Steve, who was literally sleeping and literally couldn’t consent, and watched him have an orgasm he wasn’t controlling, an orgasm he was experiencing in basically a completely different reality. _James just partook in a sex act with Steve without Steve’s consent_ and he might be sick, he might actually throw up. 

‘Let’ is for people who consent - Steve didn’t _let_ him do anything, oh God-

“Steve,” he says, panic rising, because it’s the middle of the night and they’re alone and he should have woken Steve up before, “Steve,” and he grabs Steve’s shoulder, shakes him. 

“Uh,” Steve says, coming awake and then sort of trying to get away in that what-the-fuck-is-happening sort of way, “what? Oh.” Steve blinks at him blearily and then gradually takes James in, and then smiles, interested. “Hi,” he says. “Change your mind?” 

“You had a wet dream,” James says, and Steve sort of blinks hard a few times to clear his eyes and then looks down at himself, frowning. 

He gives a startled sort of chuckle.

“Jeez, boy, did I, I’ll have to change the sheets,” he says, and then, when he looks back at James, gives him a _look_. “That’s ‘cause _somebody’s_ been teasin’-” 

“No, but,” James says, and then Steve seems to register that James is upset somehow, “I-I watched! You were just lying there and I _watched_ and I didn’t even ask-” 

“Okay,” Steve says, pushing up onto his elbows - his still-mostly-hard cock slides sideways across his stomach through the all cooling come, and James averts his eyes because he shouldn’t have looked in the first place. “Okay, breathe a minute, sweetheart, I don’t mind you watching a damn thing.” 

“I should have asked.” 

Steve pauses, thinks about it, and James knows, any second, he’s going to realize the extent of what James has done.

“Okay, yes, in a different situation, it might have been strange,” he nods, “okay? But right now, you’re freakin’ out over nothin’, you didn’t _do_ anythin’-” 

“I touched you,” James says, feels his face burn with the admission, “I-I didn’t _do_ anything but I held your-” he gestures, shakes his head, “I put my hand on you ‘cause I wanted to feel but I-I didn’t even-” 

"Honey," Steve says. "I understand. I get it, and it's the sweetest thing that you care so much but I promise you, there no harm done." 

"I'm the one who took your sheet off, I'm the one who-" he swallows hard. "I touched you, and you couldn't even stop me." 

"James," Steve says, "the way we conduct this relationship is careful and consenting, and I appreciate that you feel you've made an error of judgment. So, in a minute, we’ll talk about how to handle sleep and consent in future but, for now? I'd like you to know that - despite the context of the physical contact - I don't consider one hand resting on my skin to be any worse of an intrusion than snuggling up when I'm still sleeping, or kissing my cheek when I've passed out on the couch. Brief connection of body parts to denote affection. Yes?" 

James isn't convinced but feels a little less terrible faced with that. But the context _is_ important, especially considering what it was James saw him do, where it was James touched him. 

"I," he says, but then he's shaking his head helplessly. “It was your- Steve, I had my hand on your balls, I’m not s’posed to-”

"Okay," Steve says firmly, and he sits up properly. “Alright. I don’t mind that you touched me. I might feel a little differently if you’d jerked me off but that’s ‘cause I like knowing what’s happening to my body at any given moment - I spent a long time with it doing whatever the hell it wanted without my say so.” 

“I know,” James says. “Like you don’t like surprise handjobs, that’s why I always tell you I want to give you one.” 

Steve stares at him, blinks, and kind of closes his eyes for a second, eyebrows raised. 

“Right,” he says and wow, did he not realize James knew? “But I get into bed late some nights and hug you, sometimes I get a leg in between yours, sometimes I grab that little behind’a yours, sometimes I kiss your neck or your forehead or whatever, and sometimes I don’t move when you’re all up on me in your sleep. And sure, okay,” he says when James opens his mouth to object, “you know I do all of that, so it’s different, but James, you did nothing. If you’d put your hand on my face or my chest or by knees, it wouldn’t have made a difference, yeah? It would’a been exactly the same. I know you’re mad at yourself for not asking but I’m not mad at you. Okay? Plus,” Steve says, “if I woke up with you touching me and I didn’t want you to, you know I’d be able to stop you.” 

“Yeah, but you weren’t awake.” 

Steve sighs softly, brushes a strand of hair off James’ face. 

“I'm happy to forgive you for whatever mistake you feel you've made, if that's what you need,” he says softly, and James drops his head into his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“I forgive you,” Steve says again, “although I don’t feel you should be upset about it. As far as I see it, you would have asked permission to touch me if you were in any doubt. Wouldn't you?” 

James nods. 

“Yes,” he says. “And I would'a stopped if you-” 

“I know,” Steve says. “So I think you had no qualms about touching me because you know me. Because you knew there wasn’t even a _chance_ I might not want to. And, if I’d been awake, I would’ve been able to tell you that assumption was correct. I want you to understand – I know why you're upset about it. But you didn’t hop on and start riding, baby, you just…” Steve settles his palm on James’ knee. “…put a hand on me. Didn’t even move.” 

“I'm still sorry,” James murmurs. 

Steve searches his face for a moment, and then moves a little. 

“Mh, come over here and kiss me,” Steve answers, subtly swiping at his stomach with the bedsheet before he flicks the fabric back, out of the way.

He cranes his neck for the kiss and James meets him halfway, not wanting him to stretch too far. 

“On the plus side,” Steve says, his voice low as his hand creeps up James’ leg, “it’s now very obvious that I can come without hurting myself.” 

James bites his lip and then his eyes flutter shut when Steve rubs careful fingertips over his erection through his shorts. 

"Steve," James says, and he knows his voice is unsteady, but Steve draws back a little, removes his hand.

“We don’t have to do anything, James,” he says.

James shakes his head.

“No, it’s,” he says, “can you- we could-” it’s difficult to convey what he wants to and he sighs through his nose. “You sure you’re okay?”

And this is the thing, isn’t it? He’s asking a six foot, two hundred pound, superhuman special operative if he’s sure he’s alright that James put one hand on him. And Steve doesn’t even look like he’s thinking about taking it as a joke.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he says, low sincere, taking James’ hand. “I promise. _You_ alright?”

James nods, rubs his hands over his thighs. 

“Yeah,” he says, feeling a little more like he means it, feeling a little less like he’s so weighed down he’ll sink into the mattress. “Yeah, I’m okay. You gonna come this much again?”

Steve nods.

“Temporary hyperspermia, yeah. Should last the next two or three and then I’ll be back to normal. You wanna go back to sleep?” he says, and James looks at him, drinks him in. “I’ll change the sheets, we can go back to sleep.”

His dick’s still at least mostly hard, leaning against the line of muscle over his iliac crest, but he looks totally ready to settle back down if that’s what James wants.

“You could go again,” James says, and Steve lifts a shoulder.

“I could,” he says. “Could go to the bathroom and handle it, too. Could even go back to sleep and keep on dreamin’, but I might wear a condom this time.”

James feels himself smile a little.

“Must’ve been good,” he says, and a slow, lazy grin spreads over Steve’s face as his gaze turns distant.

He nods slowly.

“Mmmh,” he says, and James cocks his head.

“Wanna tell me about it?” he says, and Steve’s gaze snaps back.

“Uh,” he says. “Just…touching. Just…” he shakes his head, draws a deep breath. “Just hands, mouths, all over me. Everywhere.” He closes his eyes, wets his lips, swallows hard. “Everywhere.”

It’s strange. He looks about ready to go again, flush on his high cheekbones, mouth open, breaths coming just a little faster. But he’s still tired, James can see it. That pallor to his skin hasn’t changed, not really, and there are still those huge, dark circles around his eyes. When Steve opens his eyes, he he frowns bemusedly, mouth curling at the corner, and James realizes he must have been staring. 

“Sounds nice,” James says. 

“I could show you,” Steve says, coughs to clear his throat because he’s still kinda raspy, and then cocks his head. “Within reason.”

James shakes his head, moves forward and over so that Steve takes the hint and lies back down. 

“No,” James says, curling a hand over Steve’s sticky thigh. “How about this now?” 

James pushes at the hem of his shorts until they’re around his knees, and doesn’t miss the hunger in Steve’s eyes as his erection springs upward. He gets one of Steve’s legs between his own - Steve has to bend his knee slightly to get it in the gap where his shorts bind his knees - but then James’ dick is pressed to the top of Steve’s thigh and Steve’s, wet and thick and hot, is pressed to James’ hip. James’ knees and thighs get slick with it almost instantly and Steve shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s all over-”

“I want it,” James says. “I don’t care, I want it.”

Steve bites his lip, closes his eyes as he rolls his head on the pillow, and then James kisses him, really kisses him, and Steve kisses him back, too, mouth open, tongue in James’ mouth instantly. It’s slow, easy, but it’s enough for now.

James rolls his hips, grinds his dick against Steve’s slick skin and Steve moans softly, grabs at James’ ass to haul him closer, James does it again, presses his body down and Steve breaks away then, breaks the kiss and makes this gorgeous wounded noise, fingers digging into James’ backside, pulling hard - James can feel cool air on his hole Steve’s pulling so hard - and tips his head back for a moment.

“Yeah,” he breathes, slurring already, “fuck, I’m’a last about twenty seconds, kid-”

James scrapes his teeth over Steve’s throat and flexes his hips down harder, and Steve brings his head back so they’re breathing each others’ air, mouths so close they could taste but neither of them do.

“That’s it, honey, lemme,” Steve says, “lemme rub up on you, _ohn, God,”_ and he does, hips coming up to meet James’, mouth open and gasping, eyes shut tight.

James grabs at Steve’s shoulders, smiling down at him, he’s missed this, missed all of this - the closeness, the pleasure, the strength in Steve’s hands.

“Tomorrow you can fuck me,” James says, and Steve gasps, moans at him.

“Fuck me,” he says, “tomorrow, fuck _me, God_ , oh, James, fuck-”

He pulls James closer, gets his hands half on the back of James’ thighs and pulls him tighter against him with each thrust, dragging their bodies together as he winds up again. 

“Yeah?” James says, jolted with each thrust of Steve’s - _God_ , he’s strong, even like this. “Yeah? You comin’?”

Steve shakes his head, laughs, turns his head away as he flushes scarlet.

“Gonna,” he says, “be a lot, get all…it’s gonna…all over you if you-”

“I want it,” James says, voice breaking over Steve’s movements as they rut together, “I want it, all of it, fuckin’ get it all on me,” Steve’s head goes back, “it’s all over you, get it all over me-”

Steve draws a huge lungful, cries,

_“Ohn!”_ like he’s been punched, and then his hips snap up and his fingers go the tightest they’ve been so far and he’s off, there he goes. 

James feels Steve come, feels it slicking the space between them as Steve pumps his hips with his head back and eyes half open. And he smiles, too - James loves when Steve smiles when he comes - makes more of those _ah- ah- ah-_ noises and he’s still coming. James plants one hand on the mattress, pushes himself up onto his hands to get more leverage and grinds down, uses his other hand to get Steve’s hair back off his head and there’s so much of it between them James can hear it.

“Aow, fuck,” Steve gasps and, while James straddles one leg, Steve kicks out with the other, foot scrabbling on the bedclothes as James keeps him going.

Steve tucks his chin down, bares his teeth and then hisses, turns his head on the pillow and snaps his hips up against James, holds them there with his back bowed off the bed and then, like someone’s cut his strings, he collapses back down and relaxes, hands just resting at the tops of James’ thighs, chest heaving. 

“Stop,” he gasps, “stop,” and James already has but Steve says it a few more times for good measure. “Oh, God, please, you gotta- you don’t stop, I won’t stop.”

James peppers Steve’s shoulders and his collarbone with little kisses, then paints lines over his throat with his tongue. Yeah, _gonna be all over_ is right, but James absolutely does not care at all.

“You sure you want to stop?” James asks, and Steve bites his lip, eyes closed.

“I don’t know,” he says, and then he winces, shifts uncomfortably. “I-” he hisses through his teeth. 

His erection isn’t even pretending to quit, but he flails a hand out for James.

“Can’t I get yours?” 

“You _want_ mine?” James asks, and Steve nods, tugs against James’ fingers to try and get him closer.

“Up here,” he says, lashes sweeping upward. “Over me, get-” he rolls his shoulders against the pillow. “Get over my stomach, come here.”

“Your,” James says. “You sure?”

“I want you to come on my chest so yeah,” Steve says, and James kind of short-circuits for a second or five.

Once he’s got the ability to think again, he tilts his head so he can look down at Steve properly.

“Can’t I come kneel up next to you?” he says, and Steve settles, turns his head to look up at James and fights a smile.

“Would you prefer that to gettin’ on me?” he says.

James nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t want to re-break your ribs.”

“Uh, God,” Steve laughs, already blinking slowly. “You won’t, look at you, but sure. Come kneel by me.”

James gets his legs under him and shuffles over on his knees, boxers still pinning his legs together, and he tucks himself up with his kneecaps pressed to Steve’s ribcage and underarm. 

Steve wraps his arm around James, settles his massive hand on James’ ass and hums in approval as James grips his own cock tightly. He squeezes hard first, trying to tamp down the _now-now-now_ sensation, and then Steve’s fingers flex on his ass, Steve’s hand slides around him to cup his balls, fingers stroking at his perineum.

“Uhn, fuck it,” James mutters, and he gets up on his knees and jerks his cock as hard as he can, as fast as he can.

It feels good, feels amazing, and Steve massages him right there, the pressure point between his legs, behind his balls, until his hips are snapping forward of their own accord, and he bites his lip and tries to keep his eyes open, tries to hold his breath so he doesn’t yell at Steve (who’s definitely sleepy and has been very ill and doesn’t need yelling at), but Steve presses his fingers up and arches his back to give James a mostly-blank canvas, and then slips his middle finger back and strokes at James’ hole.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says. “Make a fuckin’ mess.”

And, honestly, Steve already knows James is good at doing what Steve says, and it’s been _ages_ , so James was never going to be able to do anything other than exactly what he was told anyway. 

~

They strip the bed (mattress protector included, because Steve’s done this before) and then move to the spare room - laundry can wait.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Spoilery summary if you’re not sure about the mild dubcon tag:
> 
> The ‘mild dubcon’ tag is related to this chapter (chapter 1) of this installment, but no proper dub-con takes place. Steve has a wet dream and James watches him. He also puts one hand on Steve’s balls while Steve comes because he wants to know what it feels like. James then freaks out that he’s done something without asking Steve, wakes Steve, and Steve assures James that he doesn’t consider James’ actions any worse than putting a hand on his stomach or shoulder while sleeping. They agree to small touches while sleeping, but to reserve the sexual for when they’re both awake and able to verbally consent.
> 
> If you would like to skip the scenario but not the resulting conversation, please find-in-page the phrase _‘panic rising.’_ If you’d like to skip both the scenario and the resulting conversation, please find-in-page the phrase _‘you wanna go back to sleep.’_ If you’d like to skip the bodily fluids, go to chapter 2.
> 
> Also hyperspermia is real! I’m not linking it, go look it up xD


	2. Chapter 2

James wakes, a little blearily, to a sight he hasn’t seen for a while. He is alone in the bed, but not alone in the room. 

After James used the topsheet to clean them both up last night (although, to be fair, Steve needed it more than James did), Steve’s new nipple, when James insisted on cleaning him up a little, was sensitive enough that Steve gasped at him to stop before they had to start all over again, and James filed the information away for later. Steve’s muscles were also clearly still a little fatigued because he found getting out of bed and then walking to the spare room to get back into bed more difficult than he would if he were totally healed. 

Part of James is surprised that Steve’s still getting up to go to mass. It is gone eleven in the morning, of course, so it’s not like it’s early. And Steve did say he was going but still, the other surprise James gets is that, once he realizes why Steve’s wearing charcoal gray suit pants and a royal blue blazer over his crisp, white shirt, he also notices something else.

“You shaved,” he says. “You shaved?”

Steve looks at him - double-takes, actually, as he realizes the noise James made was actual words - and smiles. He’s shaved, he’s also still not trimmed his hair, at least at the front, so he’s swept it to the side in that old-fashioned swoop. Coupled with the blue blazer, he really looks like Captain America this morning. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, smiling. 

His laugh lines crinkle and his smile is warm, but James doesn’t miss the shadows in his eye sockets or the lavender tint to his eyelids. The lines of his face seem deeper somehow - James figures he probably still needs more nutrition than he’s getting, ‘cause he figures out a moment later that what Steve looks is ‘tired and gaunt,’ and ‘like he could stand to put on a little weight.’ 

“You okay?” James asks, and Steve sits down next to him on the bed to put on his socks - white socks, no less.

“Ye-ah,” Steve says, moving stiffly as he finishes dressing, sighing heavily as he puts his foot back down on the floor. “Gonna be better once I’m back this afternoon.”

“You shaved,” James says again, and Steve nods, pushes himself to his feet with a grunt.

“Yep,” he says. “Paparazzi wanna know how I am so they’re lookin’ out to try and catch me. If I go out in my usual disguise then the Pap figure out who I am, get a photo, and the whole look’s useless from then on. This way I’m pretty unmissable, they’ll get what they want, and then they’ll leave me alone. Ish.”

James blinks at him, watches him bend to pick something up and, when he stands, James sees he has a black, metal, fold-out walking cane - fair, he’s still favoring his left hip - and a…a sling?

He takes the blazer off and…yeah, puts on the sling. It’s white, and so matches his shirt. But…a cane? And a sling?

“You got one of each color of those?” he says, nodding at the sling while he tries to tamp down the mild panic he can feel rising.

“Got white and black - black’ll go with anything - and I got a dark gray and a dark navy. That way I can wear ‘em with suits or my…uh. Y’know, my suit. The uniform.”

James nods.

“How long have you needed a cane and a sling?” he says, because he’s really starting to worry now and he can’t think of a better way to ask. “Did I hurt you last night?”

Steve looks at him, eyebrows going up as he does.

“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean,” and then he tilts his head from side to side, “I need the cane but…listen, here I walk from the bedroom to the bathroom, or the bedroom to the main room. I don’t need nothin’. But church is big and there’s steps and…I’m gonna be up and down for the hymns and the prayers and whatnot, and then I…well, I’ll be sure to stand on the curb for a couple minutes, let the Paps get their pictures, and it ain’t too warm so. Yeah. Cane. And the _sling_ , now that’s misdirection.”

James frowns.

“What?” he says.

“The whole world knows I’ve been shot,” Steve answers. “Ergo anyone who knows what I’ve been shot with’ll know that kinda round gets through my suit’s para aramid protection. Tony’s already upgraded the suit so it doesn’t happen again, but one of the ways we try and construct an advantage for the Avengers as a whole is by not making patterns. Consistency is key to figuring shit out and, frankly, we don’t give a shit if the bad guys know who’s on duty, but we don’t announce our vacations to the public, just like we’d never put our allergies in the paper, you know? It’s like how we don’t tell the papers we’ve developed an anesthetic that works on me—” he holds up two fingers “—for two reasons. Firstly so the people who really hate me are more inclined to shoot to injure - or at least, kill me slowly - because they think there’s no pain relief so I’ll suffer. Gives me a better chance.”

James feels a little ill.

“Second, because if they know we’ve got it, they know it’s there to steal, and then _they’d_ have it, which’d give them a means to subdue me. Plus, it’s fuckin’ dangerous ‘cause if you, for example, make tranq darts - which is dumb because you can’t measure your dosage per person, which is literally how you anesthetize, and not measuring it properly is how people get killed - then you’ve got darts full of shit that’ll euthanize literally anyone else it hits except Thor and the Hulk.”

James blinks.

“So if you wear a sling, they don’t know you’re better.”

Steve’s gaze flicks over to one side for a second.

“Right,” he says. “That’s what we were talking about. And if they don’t know how fast I heal, they can’t take it into account accurately the next time. I wear the sling for another month, next time this happens they think they get two months me-free even though I’m better in three weeks.”

James can feel how wide his eyes have gone but can’t really seem to do anything about it. Steve’s smile fades slowly.

“Uh,” he says, and James raises his eyebrows.

“I mean that’s great strategy?” he says, and his voice is a little strained even to his own ears.

“Yeah, it’s,” Steve says, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. “All it is is a way to play up the injury to gain an advantage in future. Maybe we never need it, but y’know.”

“Yeah,” James says. “It’s there if you do.”

Steve nods.

“Right,” he says. He checks his watch. “I gotta be goin’, honey,” he leans forward and kisses James’ forehead, “you have lunch while I’m out.” Then he turns around and looks at James with an expression so hot James worries about how combustible the bedclothes are. “I’ll be home for dessert.”

James mouth falls open - he can’t help it - and Steve tugs the blazer back on, onto one arm and then over the other shoulder. He sticks his feet into dark brown ankle-boots on his way out of the room, and James is still staring after him when he hears the front door close.

Well.

That at least gives him a sort-of time frame, and a very clear picture of what to do while Steve’s out.

He gets up and decides he’ll shower a little later on, then goes to grab food. 

He’s probably going to need all the energy he can get.

***

Steve, it turns out, may have slightly overestimated his progress. He ought to have known - this is why Gari should be listened to - but he hasn’t had issues like this so far. Still, he also hasn’t been standing up and sitting down for an hour and a half either, hasn’t been in a draughty church on a hard pew up until now, hasn’t had to lean his whole weight on a hard plastic handle just to relieve the ache in his hip back at the tower.

It makes his hip hurt, which makes his back hurt, and then he’s standing funny to try and make it stop and that makes his shoulders hurt…

He’s glad he made it to mass, but he’s not sure he should have. 

Everything goes to plan, which is great because it’s a pretty reasonable plan - that’s why he’s always used it. 

Getting to church is easy enough - there was a car waiting for him in the tower’s underground lot - and he goes straight in once he arrives. Had to take his time on the stairs, actually, which…yeah, he’s not used to in the slightest. Last time he needed to take his time on the stairs (barring the many injuries he’s sustained in combat) was before the serum. Somehow his body hasn’t forgotten, even now, that this is exactly what it felt like then - short of breath, full of little aches. 

Once inside, he says good morning to a few of the parishioners he knows well, shakes some hands with a couple of the congregation who missed his presence, and then Mass starts and he’s swapping hands with the cane and fumbling with the hymnals and the ribbons in his missal, standing up and sitting down - he tries to kneel at one point but he’s pretty sure the good Lord will forgive him for not being able to manage that just yet.

Some of the congregation cross the aisle and move from their pews to come and shake his hand at the sign of peace, as they’ve done for others too. Determined Mrs Cadence, who had a stroke and was away for only three Sundays. New mom Mary, who had her twins a month early. Andrew B, who’d been exhausted but elated when his father was given the all-clear six months ago. Steve isn’t only warmed by their kindness, he’s also warmed by the knowledge that they do it because they care, and not because of who he is. 

Afterwards, he speaks to Fr Mulcahy - a round-spectacled gentleman, gentle in demeanor but firm in faith and morality, who, at ninety-four, is only a couple of decades shy of Steve’s chronological age, his hair white and wispy, his handshake strong as ever. Nobody seems to be able to get him to retire - and he’s seen two wars himself, so why should he?

“It’s good to see you back, Commander,” he says, his soft voice full of emotion. “Thank the Lord you’re recovering so well.”

“I do every day, Father,” Steve answers, holding just as tightly.

He’d known the Father’s father in the war, briefly and, with himself and the Father apparently both Brooklyn raised, they’d talked over tea and cake about it a few afternoons, and come to be great friends. Father Mulcahy, it turns out, had spotted him during the introit, which Steve thought - he’d suspected the prayer for ‘the health of those who rally themselves to defend our safety’ during the bidding prayers might have been a little more personal than some of the others. 

After all that, once mass is over and he’s spoken to Fr Mulcahy, and after receiving some heartfelt welcomes from a couple of other people he knows fairly well (shared hymnals and prayer cards on special occasions, perhaps, or a comforting presence in others), he feels his phone vibrate against his leg - _dot, dash, dash, dot,_ ‘P’ for ‘Paparazzi,’ sent by Jarvis, who’s been monitoring the networks. He goes and stands outside when the car’s ETA is roughly five minutes and, although he wastes a good minute or so climbing back down the steps, he’s still shivering by the time Dana pulls up - she’s traded in a couple of her night shifts for chauffeuse duty, even opens the door for him and takes his cane while he gets in the car.

It takes him a minute - the aches are starting to slow him down a little - but he makes it inside, relaxes as best he can against squeaky leather seats. He’d thought suede might be more luxury - he’d even said so once, years ago, and Tony telling him ‘but suede isn’t wipe-clean’ was enough to make sure he never said a word about it ever again. He lets his eyes close as the car pulls away from the church - it’ll be half an hour before they get back to Midtown.

With the increase of wireless technology, and the tenacity of vigilante photographers desperately trying to outdo one another, the Paparazzi pictures surface as they hit East 42nd, sent to Steve’s messages by Jarvis, and Steve brings them up on his phone.

 _Avenger Steve Rogers Recovering Well Following Injury in Nova Scotia,_ it says on the website, followed by _Former Captain America seen walking with cane in Brooklyn_ , and there he is, squinting in his Sunday best, on the curb outside the church - the Internet is crazy, but that makes it Mission Accomplished.

Steve remembers the days, before the Park Avenue Clause, when the rags would have been able to publish which church and what time and all that other stuff. It’s better now, and this is enough to keep people off his back, enough to satisfy the gossip sites and the people who visit them, enough to placate the worriers on various social media sites, and certainly enough to keep his popularity up with the public. He also remembers the days when he cared not-at-all about his popularity ratings. He still doesn’t, mostly, but it’s another of those tactical decisions that can make swaying the collective opinion of a crowd - or the fast evacuation of a building on foreign soil - easier to handle. 

They pull back into the tower’s underground lot, and Steve sorts out his cane.

Dana opens his door for him, takes his cane while he extricates himself from the car, and she hands him the cane back, holds her hands out in front of him. If he does actually fall, he’ll flatten her, but it’s a nice gesture, though, especially as he really doesn’t feel as steady or as flexible as he’d like.

“Thanks, Dana,” he says softly, and she links her arm in his once she’s closed the car door.

“Come on, Commander,” she says, patting his arm where it’s hooked in hers. “Lemme walk you home.”

Steve laughs, but doesn’t object, pauses so that he can extricate his arm from the sling, and puts his arm back in his jacket with a wince.

“Oho,” Dana says, “so you’re foolin’?”

“Eh,” Steve answers as Jarvis opens the elevator for them, “I’m maybe stretchin’ the truth? If they don’t know I’m better, they leave me alone.”

~

Dana does as she said she would, and takes him all the way to his door, folds up his cane for him when he gets there.

“You know, I’m really fine,” he says, smiling. “I’m pretty sure it’s a safe neighborhood.”

“It’s a safe neighborhood ‘cause there’s certain people keepin’ it safe,” Dana answers as she goes back into the elevator.

It’s been years since he’s carried the Captain America mantle, but she still gives him a salute anyway. It’s pretty crisp, too. 

He smiles as the doors obscure her, and then he pushes the door open and goes inside, and is met immediately by the smell of food, cooked food, good cooked food, his mouth waters, his stomach clenches and he stares, transfixed, at the table - bacon, Italian sausage, egg, smoked salmon and cream cheese on sesame bagels, fried mushrooms, tomato, fried onions, onion rings, and huge fucking slab of cheddar next to a gorgeous-looking loaf of crusty bread and some organic butter. There’s a fresh pot of coffee, too, and _cream_ , and a heaped bowl of demerara sugar. He walks over and looks at it and just stares down at it. 

“What?” he says, more to himself than anything else.

“Think this’ll do you?” from behind Steve.

Steve glances back over his shoulder at James and then double-takes because, _wow._

James has showered and he’s wearing black pants and a white button-down, freshly-washed hair misbehaving in a messy bun, dark wisps and artful strands all about his face, the bun cinched at the nape of his neck. Steve thinks mascara but isn’t sure, and, maybe, lipstick? His lips look a little swollen, like he’s been kissing, and it immediately makes Steve want to kiss him, too - not to mention the look he’s giving Steve from under those sweeping lashes.

“Mmmh, yeah,” Steve says, nodding as he turns around stiffly, “yeah, looks great.”

He takes a couple of awkward steps towards James, and tosses the folded cane at the couch so he can cradle James’ face in his hands while he kisses him. James’ arms come up around him, under the jacket, to press hot against his back over his shirt.

James’ head goes back as Steve scrapes gentle teeth over the shaved skin of his jaw, the soft skin of his throat and the hollow between his collar bones.

“You put an entire table of food out for me?” Steve says when they part, very quiet, because it feels like a precious thing. “You cooked an entire table of food _for me_?

“Yep,” James says. “I knew you’d be hungry. Was I wrong?”

Steve looks back at the spread for a moment and sucks his lower lip, smiles. 

“Nope,” he says. “I’m gonna go change so I can eat without worryin’ about my shirt. You start if you want, I’ll only be five or ten.”

James nods, and Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t feel like moving, doesn’t feel like letting go.

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” Steve answers. ““Tower’s lovely and all, but I’d like to go home now.” But then he moves, hobbles off to get clean and sort himself out. “Little stiff too but I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

~

He gets half hard in the shower (which, yay, not temporary!) and maybe washes his dick a little more than he needs to because the soap suds feel nice and the water from the showerhead feels better, leans with his head back against the tile and enjoys feeling the kind of pleasure you can only really get with a hard-on, not that touching isn’t pleasurable without. But he doesn’t come, as much as he’d like to, and preps instead. Lunch won’t take long, right? 

He puts on sweats and a t-shirt, and then a hoodie when his damp hair feels a little too cold, and then he shoves his hands in his pockets and goes back into the main room to sit down to lunch with James. 

He shuffles over to the table and looks at James. Young and happy and right there with him, James looks up, sees him, and smiles. 

“Would Sir like to be seated?” he says, pulling out a chair, and Steve debates picking James up and carrying him to the bedroom.

Steve takes his seat. 

“This looks amazing,” he says, the smell of it alone making his stomach clench.

“Whatever Sir desires,” James answers.

“That kinda talk’s dangerous,” Steve says, and James starts heaping food onto Steve’s plate. “Whoa, whoa, there’s not gonna be any-”

“I’ve eaten,” James says, “you told me to eat while you were out so I did.”

Steve blinks up at him, at James’ pristine clothes and the way he cocks his hip when he stands like that. He wants to start at James’ mouth and completely devour him, he wants to suck James off until James can’t take any more, he wants to eat James out until he _writhes_.

“Eat first,” James answers, evidently reading his expression well. 

“I should,” Steve says, “but it ain’t food at the top of the list.”

James nods at Steve’s plate.

“Come on, Commander,” he says, “faster you finish…”

Steve says grace and digs in.

***

When Steve’s eaten, and let his food rest a little, they go to the bedroom. Steve looks delighted, though he moves slowly and stiffly, and he keeps James’ hand in his the whole way there. James lets himself be tugged - he could probably go faster than Steve right now - but it’s more fun to let Steve lead.

They don’t even close the door when they get to the bedroom - James loves the thrill of it. He knows they can’t possibly be interrupted because Jarvis would warn them, but he’s someone who closed his door to jerk-off ever since he got a room of his own. Even in his own place in Brooklyn, he closes the bathroom door or the bedroom door before he does anything. (He’s heard of people who use the bathroom with the door open when they’re home alone, and Steve’s told him stories of latrines dug in forests in Europe - he can’t think of anything worse.) But knowing simultaneously that nobody will interrupt but anybody walking past would see? Yeah, that has kind of the same effect the bedroom balcony at Steve’s conversion has on him.

“I can wear a condom,” Steve says, and James shakes his head. 

“Don’t,” he says.

They grab a couple towels from the bathroom and lay them out across the freshly-made bed, on top of the giant terrycloth sheet Steve used the first time James was here. If last night’s anything to go by, they’re both going to need showers when they’re done. 

“C’mere,” Steve says, his words a little smudged together, his smile a little soft around the edges, and he sits down in from the end of the bed and pulls himself up it so he’s on all the way. Then he reaches out and grabs James, pulls James towards him as he spreads his legs, and tips them both backwards - James follows him up and back easily. “Mmm, I’ve been waitin’ for this.”

His voice is low, intimate, and James suppresses a shiver as Steve folds his whole body around him, arms sliding around his torso, legs coming up to hug James’ hips. He arches his back and smiles into the next kiss, opens his mouth under James’ and pulls him down, lies back as James comes down on top of him. James can feel the way he spreads his legs the way he presses his whole body up to bring them together, chest to pelvis.

He moans softly into James’ mouth, his hands on James’ head and his back, holding him carefully as though James the one healing from four bullet wounds, and he flexes his hips against James’. He’s getting hard, James can feel it, and he does it again, a low groan scraping up from the back of his throat.

“Mhh,” he says, and they kiss like they’re too far apart, Steve kisses like he’s unsure - all brief touches and barely-there movements, not the kind of kiss Steve usually likes to give but small, little things, like secrets.

James gets it - of course he does - Steve’s _happy_. What he’s doing is taking his time, enjoying the moment, starting small because they’re gonna take their time and go big, and James opens his eyes between kisses, sometimes doesn’t close his eyes at all, sees Steve so close he’s blurry, sees his lashes and his half-open eyes, sees his teeth as he smiles, the beginning of stubble on his jaw. Steve scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and comes back for the next kiss, languid and content.

“Hnn,” he says between each kiss, pushing his hips up again, “haah,” and then “ah,” and then, louder, “ah” a hiss through his teeth as he shifts, “ah, ow, _ow_ , ow-ow!”

“What!” James says, pulling back instantly, getting off Steve. “What, what’s wrong?”

Steve crunches up on the bed as James gets clear of him, rolls to his left and groans with hands in fists down at his left side. He’s grimacing, knees pulled up, as his head goes back, and he blows out a long, slow breath through pursed lips.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he breathes, and James sort of looks him over.

“Steve?”

“You say I told you so,” he says, “and I’m goin’ to bed.”

“What?” James says, leaning over him. “I wouldn’t, what’d I do?”

Steve shakes his head and seems to relax a little, uncurling to lie on the bed proper, body still a curve to his left, but the tension ebbing from him slowly. He sighs through his nose, closes his eyes for a long few moments.

“It’s not you, it’s my hip,” he says. “I can’t keep my legs around you yet.”

James sags to the side a little, flummoxed by him.

“I love you,” he says, because it feels like the right time to say it, and Steve turns his head on the mattress and looks at him.

“You love me because my hip is too fucked up for sex?” he says, and James leans down over him, kisses him.

“No, I love you because I love you. And I figured I’d tell you because this is disappointing for you.”

“Disappointing?” Steve says. “This is fuckin’ _ridiculous._ I just want sex, what do I have to -”

“Steve,” James says, and he can’t help chuckling about it. 

He presses little kisses to Steve’s throat and face until Steve’s grumbling has quieted, and then he looks down at him, shakes his head.

“Sex is subjective.”

“Not when you want dick it isn’t,” Steve answers, but the tightness around his mouth is softening. “What you thinkin’, mutual stuff?”

James smiles, looks Steve over. 

“Actually, I was thinkin’ maybe you could tell me what you’d like. And I could do it. My treat, because you’ve been so neglected for the past three weeks.”

Steve rolls his eyes again, frowns.

“This is meant to be for both of us,” he says, . “Ain’t we s’posed’ta be doin’ this for both of us? Plus you _know_ what I’d like.”

James turns so that he can lie on his side next to Steve instead. Even though what he knows Steve would like is ‘that dick,’ _I’d like to go home now,_ rings in James’ head first and foremost, the soft, quiet discomfort of words Steve meant only for him, the gentle vulnerability of allowing James to see it, and the dejected frustration of the small, slow comfort that James aches to help Steve take.

Now, bundled in a tee, a hoodie and track pants, snuggled up with James on the massive bed, Steve breathes softly and lies quietly, and looks at him.

“Y’okay?” James asks.

“Mmmm,” Steve answers, a sound that’s drawn-out and hung between them, rolls up like a breath from the depth of Steve’s chest as he stares at James like there’s nobody else in the world.

James turns his head, presses a kiss to Steve’s temple through the fabric, and then pushes the fabric of the hood back to kiss his skin. He’s not hot, still - not yet back to the scorching temperatures he usually runs at - but he’s not cold, not even cool. His skin is dry and his breaths come easily.

“Ready to tell me how you want it?” James asks, and Steve pushes against him a little more, as though he might pass through their clothes to press skin to skin. 

He tilts his head up, a wordless request - which is unusual for Steve - and James kisses him. Steve opens his mouth under James’ and tilts his head and kisses and kisses and kisses, fingers curling on James’ hip as James cradles Steve’s head in his hand. Steve’s enthusiasm builds, a little, and he seems to strain under James’ hands, but he subsides again soon enough. This is…unusual for James. James is unused to having Steve so…pliant is the wrong word. Subdued might be a better choice. 

Steve sighs against James’ face when they pull apart, and drops his head to James’ shoulder, pushing his face against James’ collar bone, and James wonders if the kiss was an answer or a distraction.

“ ‘S hard t’ ask,” Steve rasps eventually, and James pushes the hood back a little more.

Steve is still wan, his damp hair so dark against his skin, his skin so pale against his clothes. 

“Why?” James asks, and Steve’s head moves minutely from side to side. 

“I dunno,” he murmurs. “ ‘S not like ‘s bad.”

James waits a few more moments, and then Steve looks up at James, actually lifts his head and looks.

“I’ll remind you,” James says, “I’ve told you about the scenario in which I’m an evil ne’er-do-well and you’re at my very sexy mercy.”

Steve huffs a laugh through his nose. James knows Steve’s trained in things like stealth and tactics and covert maneuvers, but it’s still surprising to him how unobtrusive someone with Steve’s enormous frame can make himself look.

“And the scenario in which I’m a very expensive prize to be won,” James continues, “the one where I get interrogated and you just can’t help yourself…the helpless housemaid one, the one about fisting you…I mean…”

Steve actually cracks a smile. 

“It feels weird,” he says after a moment. “It feels selfish.”

“Steve, ya been shot four times, whaddya need, a finger while I blow you?”

Steve’s smile is a little wider, his shoulders not so tense. 

“I mean, at least two,” and then his smile seems to slip as though he hadn’t really been thinking about it but definitely is now.

Not the loss of a smile but the sudden presence of a different feeling entirely. He could do that, James thinks. He wouldn’t have to spread his legs, he’s just have to bend his right one, James could finger him like that.

“ _Is_ that what you want?” James says. “ ‘Cause I could blow you. I’d _love_ to blow you, get my fingers all slick and just…” he scrapes his teeth over his lip, makes the motion with his hand, two fingers massaging in small, tight circles, watches Steve’s gaze slide sideways to watch the movement, mouth opening a little wider as he, presumably, imagines how that would feel.

“Uh,” Steve says. “Actually it’s just…”

Steve has this problem, which James knows because he’s encountered it before - he’s absolutely a giver when it comes to pretty much everything. And, although James’ mind throws up some pretty lewd images in connection with that thought, it’s not just that Steve sticks his dick in James whenever James asks nicely - Steve shares a relationship and a bed with James, and they play games sometimes ( _Oh please, Commander Rogers, I need it,_ ) and James will get a little pushy about how he wants it sometimes but, in general, Steve is someone who’ll give and give and only take if that’s sort of giving too. 

Basically, for example, James can suck Steve off but he has to get Steve to believe that he really, really wants to. Which he does. 

They fuck and make out and mess around and Steve’s fine as long as it was either his idea or James is hugely enthusiastic - which is sweet and responsible and James wouldn’t change it. But it’s hard to enthusiastically consent to something when Steve won’t tell him what it is. 

“This isn’t gonna be as dumb to you as it sounds to me,” he says, “but could you just…” he sort of shrugs. “I want to be…uh, held. I guess? Just…undressed and touched and…”

“Aha, you want me to turn on the muscle worship?” James asks, and Steve snorts, eases up a little. “I can do that, a little leanin’ over you, get those pecs in my hands? You feel like that?”

“James,” he says, almost like an admonishment, but James is right, it’s just that Steve doesn’t like the perceived arrogance of the term. 

That doesn’t stop the faint blush that comes up on his skin.

“I can do that,” he says, waits for Steve to look up at him, smiles a little more softly and strokes Steve’s face with his thumb. “I can do that.”

Steve chews his lower lip for a moment, cranes his neck for a kiss, and James figures this is probably as good an opportunity as he’s going to get, and pushes his body against Steve’s. It’s no hardship to give him what he wants - James enjoys giving just as much as Steve does, he’s just a little better about asking for what he wants. 

“You know,” he says against Steve’s mouth, “we’re gonna talk about this, Commander.”

“James,” he says in return, just softly, just a small sound, just to have the name in his mouth, and James eases him onto his back where he’s turned towards James (which he’s able to do because, obviously, Steve wants to be turned onto his back), and leans over him. 

“I don’t wanna sit on you yet,” James says, and Steve’s mouth pulls up at one corner. “I don’t!”

“I mean, I didn’t get shot in my face,” Steve says, “you could always sit-”

“Unbelievable,” James says, sliding one hand across lightly across Steve’s stomach, over the hoodie. “Can you just lie where you are and let me do the thing you like, just for once?”

“What if what I want is-”

“I know that it is,” James says, “like I _really_ know that it is and, trust me, you’re really good at tempting me to do it but I want to do _this_ for you. You know? What you asked for when you thought about it.” He slides the zipper of Steve’s hoodie down, slowly enough that it’s almost tooth by tooth, slowly enough that it’s a clicking sound instead of the usual rasp. Then he finds that Steve’s tucked his tee into his pants. “And it’s so great that you’re military about literally everything, seriously. You put army corners on your goddamn t-shirt.”

“Excuse you,” Steve answers, “my mother was a nurse. They were hospital corners years before they were army corners.”

“Regardless,” James says, leaning on one arm as he starts tugging the tee from Steve’s waistband, exposing just enough to skin to get his palm onto Steve’s waist, “of whose corners they are,” he slides his palm inside the shirt and up, makes it all the way to the underside of Steve’s pec before Steve tenses, “relax, and let me, y’know. Undress you and feel you up and stuff like that because I want to, I always like to get my hands on your muscles, Commander Buff, but can you just let me because you want me to? Do you think?”

James brushes the underside of Steve’s pec with the tips of his fingers but Steve’s shirt is still mostly tucked in, and is that makes it tight enough that James can’t get his hand in much past the wrist.

Steve doesn’t say anything, and James is aware that’s probably because it’s difficult for Steve to agree with him.

“Okay,” James says instead, “then how about you just tell me if you change your mind. That okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs after a moment, “I can handle that.” And then he glances aside. “Probably.”

“Ah-huh,” Jame says. “I’m’a untuck your drumskin and you’re gonna tell me if anything hurts. Right?”

“Lemme save you the trouble,” Steve answers, and flips the open halves of his hoodie aside to pull the tee free from his waistband. 

He gets it untucked from one hip to the other, with a slight wince, and then lies flat on the bed again. 

James narrows his eyes a little.

“Thanks for the assist,” he says, “but when you said you wanted to be undressed I kinda figured you wanted me to undress you. Stop spoiling my fun. And your fun!”

“I’m trying to help-”

“The whole point is that you _stop_ trying to help,” James answers. “Lie still and let me undress you and feel you up and shit like that.”

Steve laughs softly.

“Alright,” he says. “Be my guest.”

He’s slow at the moment, slow movements, slow speech, slow smiles, and James passes his hands over Steve’s waistband to start easing the shirt out of the back of his pants, too. Steve tilts his head against the bedclothes, watching James’ face while he works, the hood rucking up so it covers one eye or half of his mouth, and James looks back at his face - means to make it a glance but then he’s looking at Steve and Steve is looking at him, and so James kisses him, kisses him as deeply as he can and then strokes one hand up the inside of Steve’s shirt. 

He can get it further this time, can cover the swell of Steve’s undamaged pectoral, and he feels the smoother, tighter skin of the newest scar on Steve’s stomach as he does. Steve doesn’t flinch - seems almost to grow somehow and it must just be a breath in but it’s a heady sensation of his body rising to meet James’ hand. He makes a soft sound as James fits his fingers to the shape of the muscle, reaches out and settles a hand on James - finds his leg and just rests his hand there. Like he wants James close.

“Are you alright if I ask Jarvis to take the ambient temperature down?” James says. “You’ll be warm when I’m done, I don’t want you overheating.”

Steve nods minutely.

“Yeah,” he says.

James has other reasons, too, but it’s not important right at this moment. 

“I was thinking,” James says. “I know you got two in last night, but your recovery rate is like, insane,” and Steve sort of looks at him, in a way that’s so open and trusting James kind of can’t believe he’s the one who gets to see it. “If that’s what you wanna do today…”

He leaves the rest unsaid, starts to push the shirt up Steve’s abdomen, and Steve turns his head on the pillow, closes his eyes and just breathes. James smooths his fingertips over Steve’s stomach, draws a circle around his bellybutton and then follows the lines of muscle over his stomach, traces each valley between each one. He does it lightly, because he knows Steve isn’t ticklish, not really, and then he does it some more because he can and because he wants to.

And then, slowly, he pushes the shirt up a little more, the tags with it so they're out of the way, a little more until he can see the underside of Steve’s pecs, a little more until the little hard points of his nipples hide _just_ beyond the cotton hem. 

He rubs his fingers over the gorgeous swells of both, over and back, over and back again, and then he ducks his head and presses a kiss to Steve’s stomach. Then he opens his mouth and kisses Steve’s abs the way he’d kiss Steve’s mouth, tongues at the ridges, scrapes his teeth over the rises and falls. The next breath Steve takes is a little unsteady, but that’s kind of the point. 

James kisses his way up Steve’s abdomen, wet and open-mouthed, until he can kiss the exposed underside of his pectorals. He gets a little cotton in his mouth but it’s worth it for the way Steve makes another soft little noise in the back of his throat. He arches his back a little, too, and James knows him well enough by now to know exactly what he wants. 

He wants his nipples played with, and James isn’t giving it to him yet.

Instead, just as he uses his nose to push the cotton up a little further between Steve’s pecs, he pushes against the waistband of Steve’s track pants with one hand, strokes the curve of Steve’s lower stomach with his thumb while his fingers stretch downward. Steve’s pubic hair is coarse against his fingers, and James waits until he’s got his whole hand under the elastic before he scratches his fingernails through it, a satisfying little noise on the edge of his perception. 

Steve breaths evenly, although James can hear it shudder occasionally, and lies still. 

James knows exactly how he wants Steve, to start with. He wants to keep him as dressed as possible because he knows from experience that, the more clothes you have on, the more exposed the nakedness feels.

James slides his fingers downward in a ‘v’ shape, to massage either side of the base of Steve’s cock - it’s filling steadily, James can feel it - and he rubs back and forth for a few minutes, kissing Steve’s abdomen as he does, mouth open over hard muscle and smooth skin. He sticks his tongue in Steve’s bellybutton, and Steve laughs, shifts just slightly. James kisses slowly upward again as he withdraws his hand, half as a distraction. He doesn’t want to keep Steve on edge, that’s the opposite of what he’s trying to do. But he does want Steve to be happy, doesn’t want Steve to get bored. It won’t be as difficult later - humans are like that. Give a body an orgasm to work for and it tends to ignore most of the other stuff, so James is quite sure that Steve won’t get bored once James actually starts jerking him off but, for now, he pushes at Steve’s waistband again, just as he nuzzles the hem of Steve’s tee a little higher.

The hem of the shirt catches, and James smiles as he presses a kiss to the middle of Steve’s sternum. The hem caught on his nipples, which means they’re at least a little hard, and James finds one sharp hipbone with his hand as he sweeps his tongue along the underside of Steve’s pec, up onto the flat of it. But not his nipple.

Steve says,

“Mnh,” and holds his lower lip in his teeth, chin pressed to his chest to try and see what James is doing.

James sticks the tip of his tongue out and holds it so, so close to the new nipple, such a bright red compared to the other’s dusky rose. He breathes slowly, warm, damp air over new, sensitive skin, and Steve holds his breath, James hears him. He retracts his tongue and blows cool air instead, and Steve’s abs crunch a little, his eyebrows draw together. The areola flushes, puckers, the little bright red nub of Steve’s nipple strains upward, upward. James moves away, goes back to kissing Steve’s abdomen, and Steve breathes in hard through his nose and lets it out slowly as he allows his head to fall back.

With his hand, James pushes the waistband past Steve’s hipbones on one side, then on the other, tugs a little and then enjoys his handiwork - Steve’s pants are still not down enough to show him anything more than the beautiful v-shaped taper of his muscles, the very tops of his thighs, and the first inch or so of pubic hair, but the swell of his cock has changed the shape of the fabric, and he’s very obviously decided against underwear.

James sits up properly, has a look at him. Steve’s pretty much his blank canvas, and James means to expose more of him yet, but this is sweet, he’s pliant now. James sweeps a hand up from Steve’s waistband to his sternum, draws paths over Steve’s abs and then kneels up and leans over Steve so that he can flatten both hands on Steve's stomach without putting any weight on him. 

Steve stares up at him, eyes half closed, mouth open, hands open and down by his sides. There’s the hint of a smile there, too, and James sweeps both hands up Steve’s flanks, and up to squeeze Steve’s pecs, still avoiding his nipples. Steve arches into the touch, bites his lip again as James hovers his fingers over them, and then James chuckles and draws his fingers back, and Steve laughs and puts his arm over his eyes. 

“Tease,” he says. 

So James sucks the new one into his mouth.

Steve locks up, head back, one arm gripping the bedclothes while the other comes down and threads through James’ hair, back arched, mouth open on a moan, an expression on his face that looks like pain though James knows it’s nothing like. James uses his other hand to play with the dusky one, and Steve’s hips roll upward, nice and slow, press down again just as slowly.

“Fuck, it’s so,” he says, “your mouth is so _hot_ -” 

James sucks a little harder, kisses over it with lips and tongue and then does it again, but he pulls back soon enough. Even puckered and straining, the flesh is soft, delicate, tastes a little more metallic than James is used to. He hasn’t done any damage, nothing of the sort - in fact, it looks like he’s doing a pretty good job - but the blood is close to the surface and the skin still has a little way to go before James will be comfortable doing all of the things Steve likes. 

Still, he breathes on it, hot and then cool, and Steve whines - actually whines - as his knee twitches. James looks down - aborted thrust, probably - and enjoys the shape of Steve’s sweats for a little bit. The knowledge that he can both look _and_ touch wins out though, and he stretches his hand out and just runs his fingers over the length of Steve’s dick over the fabric.

Steve sighs unsteadily.

“Can you,” he says, and James looks at him.

“Arms up,” he says. “Stretch up if you can, I want—” he gestures to Steve’s body laid out in front of him “—all of this to play with.”

Steve gives him a wry, almost shy, smile, but does as he’s asked, puts his arms over his head and then visibly restrains himself when James pushes the hem of the shirt up to his chin. Then James leans all the way over him and seals his mouth over the new nipple again while he uses his fingers on the other one. Steve does it again, eyes slipping shut, head tipping back, chest lifting to meet James.

“I’ll be,” he says, “I could,” and James abruptly understands what he’s talking about.

“You can come from nipple stuff?” he says.

Steve jerks a little because James isn’t letting up.

“I have before,” he says, though it sounds strained. “Takes a while but that’s when it’s- _oh_ -” 

James squeezes the new one, just the hard peak of it, between his thumb and forefinger. He doesn’t pinch as hard as he might, doesn’t pull, just keeps it where it is with slightly more pressure than just a hold. Then he rolls the little red peak with his thumb.

Steve gasps, open-mouthed, back arching off the bed and, yeah, that’s definitely a thrust. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Hmm,” James says, smiling down at it affectionately. “I like ‘em. They’re so little but they make you do so much-”

“Am I hard?” Steve says. “I feel hard, you wanna check that for me, make sure I’m-?” 

“You’re hard,” James says, without looking away. “I noticed.”

Steve blows out a breath.

“Well it was worth a shot.”

James laughs, sits up again and looks down at his canvas. He rests his palm in the middle of Steve’s abdomen and then, with the other hand, begins to pull down the waistband of his sweats. Much like last night, Steve’s dick is up against his thigh, not quite all the way hard yet, and it’s a little damp at the tip.

“You’ve got such a pretty dick,” James says, and Steve laughs suddenly enough that the movement makes it shift. 

“Thanks,” he says. “I mostly grow my own.”

“What the fuck,” James giggles, but then he leans forward, lifts Steve’s cock with his fingertips and just holds it there, looks at it. “I mean it, look at it.”

“No?” Steve chuckles. 

“It’s really pale except right here—” he strokes his thumb over the head and the fluid gathering there, and the smile slips off Steve’s face “—and it’s got this real pretty line right here—” he follows the underside of the head all the way around, and Steve’s cock swells in his hand, foreskin moving back as though out of James’ way “—and it’s real thick underneath, like this—” and, with thumb and forefinger either side of the bulge of his urethra on the underside, he traces a line from root to tip “—and it’s such a-”

“Ja- James,” Steve says, his toes curl and his fists clench. “Don’t do that, kid.”

James looks at him, gages his expression.

“Don’t like it?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Too much,” Steve answers, so James lets go, places it gently back against Steve’s skin and strokes Steve’s thigh instead, his stomach.

He avoids all Steve’s various hot spots for the next couple of minutes and concentrates, again, on just following the lines of his muscles and tendons, on tasting smooth skin and watching to see if Steve likes it. When he gets all the way back up to Steve’s neck, carefully not avoiding his poor neglected little nipples again, Steve ducks his head himself and kisses James proper.

It’s slower than James is expecting, deep and warm, and Steve’s hand comes up to hold him- Oh okay, both hands, one on the back of James’ head, the other on his waist. He kind of shuffles a little, tilts his body towards James, and James pulls away, looks down the length of Steve’s body.

Steve is behaving for the time being - his back is flat on the bed, which means his chest isn’t up, so he’s not trying to scrape his nipples over James’ shirt. His hips are down, too, though his cock is clear of his skin now, not quite hard all the way but mostly, and it points upward, toward James, but he’s not trying to get any friction. 

“I want to put my fingers in you,” James says, and Steve’s eyes close for a second, he nods a moment later.

“Yeah, two,” he says, “at least. I’m clean. Lube’s on the nightstand.”

James flattens his palm on Steve’s chest, smiles.

“Not yet,” he says. “Not even nearly.”

He does go get the lube though, and a couple of other things, pushing up off the bed to wander around to the other nightstand for the toys and snagging the lube from his own on the way back.

“Here,” he says, dumping it all on the bed before he points at Steve’s legs. “I’m’a take those off you.”

He leans over, still standing on the floor, and gets Steve’s sweats down his legs, off one leg and then just leaves them bunched around Steve’s ankle because he’s exposed what he wants to get to. And then Steve’s lying there, naked from the collarbone down, save for his sleeves and the soft fabric on his leg. His hood’s still up, too - there’s something strange about it, about seeing so much of him exposed when he’s still wearing clothes. It’s as though James has caught him in a vulnerable state, or stumbled across him, discovered him in some intimate moment where he’s not put himself on display but can’t hide himself anyway.

“You’re really hot like this,” James tells him, and Steve snorts. 

“Ah-huh,” he says, “only thing better’s if you let me keep my socks on.”

James taps him on the ankle.

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re gorgeous, look at you. All wrapped up nice and snuggly, still trust me enough to have all this while you’re bundled up. ‘S like I caught you jerkin’ off, it’s hot.”

“You’re sweet,” Steve says. “You like the intimacy.”

“Yeah,” James nods. “I like the intimacy. And I like your abs.” Steve laughs. “And that dick-”

“Please stop,” Steve chuckles.

“Hey, I love you,” James says. “I love you.”

Steve nods against the pillow, wiggles his fingers.

“I love you too,” he says, and then says, “guess what else loves you?”

James gets back on the bed, walking over on his knees as he gets a ton of lube in his hand. It’s the one closest to Steve’s cock - the other he’s keeping dry for now. Steve looks bemused.

“Listen,” James says, stopping when he’s kneeling facing Steve, “we don’t gotta talk about it now, but I wanna talk about it. This.”

“What?” Steve asks, and he drops a hand to James’ leg, rubs his fingers over his thigh. 

“That thing you do where you like good things as long as they’re for other people, you make a joke or distract me,” Steve looks ready to protest, shakes his head and holds up a hand. “Or we can talk about it now.”

Lube drips onto Steve’s stomach, and he doesn’t pay it any attention.

He waits a few more seconds, clearly thinking, and then he nods, settles back into the cushions.

“A’right,” he rasps, clears his throat. “Alright, we’ll talk about it later.”

James nods.

“’Cause I love you,” he says, and Steve presses his lips together. 

“Yeah, I love you, too,” he answers.

“Good,” James says. “So now I’m going to bring you off nice and slow, okay? How about that?” 

Steve nods.

“Sounds good,” he says, and his voice is low, calm. 

James waits a couple of seconds, and then wraps his fingers around Steve’s dick, but gently. Steve draws a deep breath and keeps his eye on James’ hand while he moves, loose-fingered.

“S’okay,” James says. “Just gettin’ to know ‘im, you know?”

“You know him pretty well,” Steve answers.

“You’re right,” James says. “But I’m trying to make you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good,” Steve says, eyebrows coming together and that…okay, James wasn’t expecting that, feels himself blush as he smiles. 

“Well then relax,” he says softly. “We’ll get there.”

Steve shakes his head a little.

“Please,” he breathes as he frowns down at where James is holding him, scrapes his teeth over his lower lip again, and James smiles.

“Really?” he says. “I can go fast if you want. Do you want that?”

“Ughhh you’re killing me,” Steve groans, and he flops his head back down onto the bed. 

He makes another attempt to hold onto James, arm reaching out blindly, and he has to lift his head to look at James to actually find his leg when the first three pats get him nothing except bedclothes. He manages to keep his eventual grip on James’ waistband relatively light, but James suspects he’s grabbed fabric just in case his control wanes. His other hand twists immediately in the quilt, and he arches his back and squeezes his eyes shut. James isn’t even jacking him yet, just holding.

“You’re really worked up, huh?” he says, and Steve moans softly.

“My entire,” he says, “ _oh_ God, it’s like, it’s like it’s sharp, it’s-”

“Shh,” James says softly, not sure if it’s the right tone to take. “Take it easy.” He’s aiming for authoritative but kind, for soothing even though he’s doing this to Steve. 

He knows it works because Steve goes quiet again, wets his lips, chews his lip, sucks his lip and doesn’t open his eyes.

He moves his hand, just a little, fingers still loose, and Steve draws a huge breath in through his nose, chest expanding (God he’s gorgeous) as his mouth drops open.

“That’s too,” he says, “that’s not,” and James smiles at him even though he can’t see, watches the way his face changes as he moves his hand.

“Like that?” he says, and Steve’s fingers open and close on the quilt, his eyes half open and he looks at the ceiling as though he doesn’t understand why it’s there.

“God it’s been so long,” he says, and James laughs.

“It’s been three weeks,” he says, and Steve shakes his head, tucks his chin down to look at him.

“No,” he says, “mean I used to,” and then, “you’re _here_ and I’m so,” he shakes his head some more, tips his head back and stretches his whole body and says, “oh, _thank_ you,” and James thinks he gets it.

“How many times you have to do this alone?” he says, and Steve moans again, the hand on James’ waistband moves, drags along the fabric until his hand is still gripping the thick fabric but is settled at the small of James’ back.

 _“Too many,”_ he grits out, and James has a little pity on him, tightens his fingers and strokes. “Oh, James,” Steve says, “oh, James, James,” lifts his head to look down, and James stops after a few strokes to grip Steve’s cock, fingers all gathered close just under the head. 

He jacks just a little once he’s sure he’s got Steve’s attention (was he ever in any doubt), once, twice, just to show Steve what the head of his cock looks like peeking out from James’ fist, and Steve nods, nods more.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, please,” and James resumes his stroking.

“I will,” he says, “you know I will.”

“Please,” Steve says again anyway, and James can understand that too. Sometimes you get a word in your mouth and it’s the only thing you can say like this - a name or a plea or even just a noise, like a record, like a soundbite, “please, oh, oh,” and James strokes his dry hand up over Steve’s stomach, onto his sternum and over his pecs, the left then the right, squeezing just a little.

“ ’Dja feel?” James asks, meaning _how,_ because Steve bares his teeth and screws up his face.

He’s expecting ‘good’ or maybe just ‘please’ again, but Steve surprises him with the _what_ instead, “Static,” gasped on a breath in, and he arches his back to push his chest up into James’ palm the next time. 

James doesn’t speed up much though he keeps his fingers tight, just goes nice and steady, stroke by stroke - not quite one-Mississippi but not much faster. He knows this kind of pleasure himself - constant, steady, not the way an orgasm builds but a deliberate constancy that sharpens the edge of pleasure instead of blunting it, focused on the places that want it most. It’s overload instead of desensitization, and he grabs for the lube bottle with his dry hand and gets more in his fist.

Steve’s trying to keep still and quiet, hips on the bed though James can see the muscles working as he fights not to thrust upward - he’s trying to do what James asked him to do and just let it happen, but James knows how easy that is (not at all, especially after three weeks with serum-enhanced nerves).

James half lies down next to Steve, still jacking his cock, gets his free arm under Steve’s neck and leans close so Steve’s almost cradled against him.

The lube actually makes a noise as James strokes, and Steve’s cock couldn’t get much harder than it is now. It’s hot and solid in James’ hand, foreskin back and tight against the length, head flushed and leaking - James can tell even with all the lube. He’s close to coming because he’s got a body four times as sensitive as a normal person and it’s been three weeks since he had any reasonable kind of leading-to-orgasm contact, but he gets so hard so fast, James always loves it.

“Look at you,” he says, and Steve’s eyes snap open, he looks suddenly desperate.

“Kiss me, _kiss me_ ,” he says, lets go of James’ waistband and makes a grab for the fabric between his shoulder blades instead as James turns his head to oblige, and then they’re kissing and Steve’s pushing against James as though he’s trying to pour his whole self into James’ mouth, and then he breaks away and goes still, holding his mouth against James’ as he holds his breath. 

His cock swells just that little bit more in James’ hand, and then throbs as the muscles contract, a pulse James can squeeze in time with, and Steve groans with his lips still touching James’ lips, with his hands still in fists - one in the bedclothes, one in James’ shirt. James wants to see the come on him but he’s also happy to wait until Steve’s done. 

It goes on and on, a while longer than James is expecting, and the throbbing gets harder as each one gets further apart, until Steve makes a noise like he’s put down something heavy, and then he collapses against the bed, chest heaving, as his cock stills in James’ hand too.

James doesn’t stay down with him, sits up again and just looks at Steve instead. Searches his face and then looks at the rest of him and yeah, okay, that’s a lot of come on Steve’s skin, though less than last night. Thinner, too, closer to translucent.

“Good?” he says, and Steve just lies where he is for a few seconds, mouth open, eyes closed.

His face isn’t screwed up any more, though. His eyebrows turn up over the bridge of his nose so that he looks mildly concerned, but his mouth is open and his nipples are hard and there’s streaks of come on him, his knuckles are still white but his hands are open, and his chest expands and contracts and James watches the shape of his pecs, the column-like structure of his abs, all those ridges, as he does his best to get the oxygen orgasm left him without.

 _“Fuck,”_ Steve breathes, blinking rapidly. Then he turns his head and squints at James. “Hi.”

James laughs into the word in response.

“Hi,” he says. “That the kind of thing you’re lookin’ for?”

“Wouldn’t mind more’a that, yeah,” Steve says. “Although you maybe wanna get a raincoat.”

He’s out of breath - which is, frankly, _lovely_ , and he lifts his chin for another kiss.

James gives him a brief one, and then lets Steve go back to recovering. He’s not soft though - might have finished coming but he’s definitely ready to go again, or able, at least. 

“God, ‘s’nice havin’ somebody gimme a hand for this,” he says, “ ‘specially with my arm.”

James nods - that’s right, if Steve’s hip is bad his arm might still be bad, and that doesn’t do much for trying to jerk off.

“Ain’t like it’s a tough job,” James tells him. “Oh no, I’m gonna have to watch you come a bunch.”

“Yeah well,” Steve says, and his voice is softer now, his gaze unwavering, “you tell me if you get tired, yeah? That’d be an awkward case ‘a carpal tunnel, right?”

“Awkward for you,” James answers. “I’d be yellin’ it from the rooftops. ‘Hey New York, remember the guy used to be Captain America? He likes me so much I got carpal tunnel.’ Like Flashdance.”

“Do I want to know about Flashdance?” 

James shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “It’s not essential viewing, just a similar reference. And yeah, I’ll tell you if I get tired.”

Steve nods.

“Okay,” he says, and James leans down and kisses him again because he can.

When he sits up again, he grabs a couple of wipes from the package and cleans Steve off a little. It’s mainly cursory - he kind of likes seeing how much Steve enjoyed what they were doing - but he tries to stop too much of it getting on the terrycloth in case it soaks through to the quilt.

He chuckles halfway through and Steve lifts his head and looks down.

“C’mere,” he says, grabs the wipes and does it himself - James tries not to be disappointed by how good a job he’s doing - but then James kind of looks at him.

“I love this,” he says, “I love you.”

“Tch, which bit, the mess or the obligation?” Steve asks, and James frowns, smacks the back of his palm against Steve’s good leg.

“Hey,” he says.

“Sorry,” Steve answers. 

“I mean _this,_ ” James says. “You’re lyin’ there and we agreed and I like, wait that’s not what I mean.” He thinks for a second. “You’re like a forty-two year old supersoldier.”

“Pretty sure I _am_ a forty-two year old supersoldier, there ain’t too many of me.”

“What I mean is you’re goin’ gray—”

“Thanks-”

“—which is sexy as fuck—”

“Oh, thanks-”

“—and you’re in charge of the Avengers and stuff and you do secret missions but like. You’re here. With me and it’s not- I don’t…Okay, so if I oversimplify, what I guess I mean is ‘its nice you’re not a stone top’ but that’s not what I mean.” Steve laughs. “You’re really my boyfriend,” James says. 

“We’re equals,” Steve answers. “You’re feelin’ it now?”

“Didn’t know I wasn’t before,” James says. “But I say you’re Captain America—”

“Inaccurately-”

“—and I call you ‘Commander Rogers,’ ” James says over a growing smile, “but you’re just Steve with me.”

Steve nods.

“We’re equals,” he says again, softer this time.

“And you’re just a real guy,” James answers. “Not a statue or a legend or an action figure.”

“I happen to be all three of those things as well, apparently, no matter how hard I try otherwise,” Steve says, “although I’d like to see an action figure that looks like this.”

He gestures to his still-wet stomach.

“No you wouldn’t,” James says. “Rule thirty-four.”

“I _definitely_ don’t want to know about rule thirty-four,” Steve says. 

“No,” James laughs. “But I mean there’s you, but then there’s you-you.”

“Me-me,” Steve repeats, chucking the wipes towards the waste paper basket before settling back down again. “And my tiny frozen hands.”

James frowns.

“You’re cold?” he says, surprised by the segue, but Steve smiles, shakes his head.

“No, sorry,” he says. “It’s a reference. _La bohème._ ”

“Oh, Puccini! I do get it!”

Steve’s smile widens.

“I love you too,” he says. “Not just ‘cause you’re so hipster you understand my jokes.”

“You’re literally The Hipster,” James says. “How did you dress when you were my age? What kind of phone did you use? What did you do for fun on the weekends?”

“I had an outdoor toilet before indoor toilets were too mainstream.” James squints. “Does that work?” Steve says. 

“Yeah,” James nods. “It’s like, you’re so hipster you were hipster before being hipster was cool.”

“Hipster’s stopped sounding like a word now,” Steve answers.

James smirks.

“Does blowjob still sound like a word?” he says, and Steve’s eyes widen a little.

“Uh,” he says, wets his lips, “not today - if I lose control you’ll be eating through a straw.”

James gets his fingers around Steve’s dick again, and smiles when Steve tips his head back and groans.

“Oh, _yeah,_ ” he says. “Yeah, now, that I can deal with.”

And James doesn’t make him wait this time, doesn’t make him beg or hold him on the edge of it, just strokes nice and even, steady pace and tight fingers.

Steve does his customary mini-flail as his body goes from nothing to the shock of pleasure, and then he lies where he is and lets James jerk him off. He’s not exactly lying still - James defies anyone to lie still when someone’s jerking them off - but he doesn’t kick or toss his head from side to side, and it takes James a little while to realize it’s deliberate. He’s _holding_ himself still as best he can.

Again, with his free, dry hand, James just touches, tracing patterns over muscle and maybe brushing over the new, bright nipple, and Steve gasps, shows his teeth and shakes his head. It’s almost like a _no_ but James trusts Steve to stop him if that’s what he wants, and not to if it’s not. It’s probably closer to a reaction he’s not controlling, an answer to a question he asked in his head, or maybe it’s just because it’s getting harder to keep still. James doesn’t know if it’s because he’s still in pain or because he doesn’t want to accidentally clip James around the head and give him a concussion, but then Steve’s patting the bedclothes, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the covers. This time, when he comes, he’s louder, says, “ahhhn,” and thumps his fists down on the bedclothes, hips snapping up into James’ fist before he tries so hard to keep them down that his muscles quake, James can see them in his thighs. 

James keeps going, same pace, same grip, until this orgasm passes too, and then he lets go of Steve’s cock to have a look at it. It’s up and it’s staying up, apparently, wet and red and in that lovely curve, standing proud and thick over his belly. It’s still drooling when James lets go although there’s even less come on Steve this time. 

“Do you wanna stop?” James asks, and Steve looks blearily up at him and then shifts on the bed, looks a little anxious. “I don’t want to stop,” James tells him, and yeah, some of the anxiety in his expression eases. 

“If you don’t stop,” he says, in a tone that sounds like a warning, “I’ll be going for a real while. I mean a _real_ while.”

James pushes the sweat-damp hair back off Steve’s forehead, trails dry fingertips over him from chin to chest, to stomach, strokes his oversensitive cock once, brief, barely a touch, enough to make him wince.

“I got nowhere to be,” he says, and Steve blinks at him as his expression smooths out, searches his face.

“James,” he says, shaking his head, helpless. “I’m gonna ruin the bed, I’m-”

“Do you _want_ to stop?” James asks again, and Steve’s gaze travels all the way down James’ body, all the way back up.

He shakes his head, and then, “no,” reiterates verbally - that’s better - and James smiles, leans down and rubs his nose along Steve’s cheek, waits until Steve tries to kiss him before he pulls back, and then he lifts his head and makes sure he’s watching Steve’s face when he wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock.

“How many you think you got?” James asks, can’t help smiling, and Steve shakes his head, a gasp in, and in, and in as his head falls back.

“Uhh,” he says, not an answer, just a noise. 

James thinks about this - there are plenty of ways to keep it interesting, to minimize discomfort. 

“You’re really not gonna let me blow you?”

“No,” he says, but it’s strained. 

“Not even a little bit, not just the tip, I can’t just get a few-”

“No blowjob today and we’re sad but we live,” he says, “or blowjob today and I accidentally break your face, and then I never say yes to blowjobs again. So no.”

James pouts.

“But I wanna blow you.”

“No, _I_ wanna blow _you,_ ” Steve answers. “But I doubt you’re gonna let me. You’ve had one and I’ve had four—”

“Who’s counting?”

“— and I’m starting to think you’re withholding your dick on purpose but-”

“I’m holding _your_ dick on purpose,” James says. “And you shouldn’t be counting.”

“Two weeks from now I’m gonna be better and I’m gonna pin you down and ride you ‘til you scream,” Steve says, his voice white-hot and so low it makes James’ skin hum, gaze sharp and unwavering as his fingers wind into the duvet cover, “your ears are gonna ring, you’re not gonna be able to walk, you’re gonna have to call in sick the Monday after our six months-”

James tightens his fingers.

“Where’s your fleshlight?” he says, and Steve shakes his head.

“No,” he says, “get it the next one, get it the next one, I can’t- don’t,- oh _don’t stop_ -”

He’s off _again,_ and James raises his eyebrows, leans down and kisses Steve’s chest, his nipple, the dip between his collarbones, his throat. He gets come on his chin and laughs.

“Oh, God, God, I- Please, just-” Steve thrusts up into James’ fist as he grasps the bedclothes, trying to stay flat even as he’s coming, “-uhh, sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry,” James says against his throat. “Don’t be sorry, don’t you know what you look like?”

“I know,” Steve says, “and the _bed_ -”

“Steve,” James says, and he grips a little tighter, “who _cares_ about the bed-”

But Steve doesn’t hear him or, at least, doesn’t answer if he does.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, and James frowns down at him.

“This normal?” he asks. “One after the other like this, so much?” and Steve, who is apparently attempting to chew through his own lower lip as he tries to tear holes in the mattress with his hands, says,

“Huuuughhh-hu-uh,” which James takes as a yes from the frantic nodding.

James squeezes harder, strokes faster, and Steve is rigid, teeth gritted, hands in claws in the bedclothes.

 _“Huuohgod,”_ he says and crunches up, head and shoulders snapping up before his whole body kind of undulates, and then he spills over James’ knuckles _again_ and draws a great lungful of air before he shudders, head to toe - this time it isn’t so violent, there isn’t so much - he’s spilling instead of shooting now, and James would estimate a normal amount. 

Plus, James only keeps going as long as it takes for the first wave of Steve’s orgasm to pass, and then has mercy. Steve reaches down and squeezes his cock at the base, tugs against his balls and winces, head still back as James laughs. Is it weird that, lying where he is, naked aside from a hoodie, a very, very rucked-up tee, and one pant-leg, covered in his own come, the first word James thinks of when he looks at Steve is ‘adorable?’ Probably.

“Ugh,” Steve says, “think I preferred you when you were a tease.”

And yeah, okay, adorable is definitely it.

Steve’s chest heaves, his hands slowly uncurling, and James gives his cock another few sodden strokes. Steve winces, hisses through his teeth, and then sort of relaxes a little, and James lets go again, just takes stock.

“How you feeling?”

“Little better,” Steve nods, breathless. “Little better, it’s softer now. It was…sharp before.”

James smiles, cocks his head.

“It hurts?” he says, and Steve cocks his head too.

“Not hurts,” he says. “Just sharp. Like it’s _gonna_ hurt, you know? Takes a few before my body knows to come down after.”

James nods, trails his dry fingers over Steve’s chest, plays with the new nipple. Steve bites his lip and looks at James, his hips shift just a little.

“So that’s four in a row,” James says, and he watches Steve mentally replay it, come to the same conclusion.

“Yeah,” he says. “If you want to stop-”

“We’ll stop when you’re finished,” James answers, nodding at where Steve’s cock is very definitely still interested. “Little Cap’s in charge.”

“That’s going to be a thing, huh?” he says. “That’s what you’re gonna call it.”

James laughs.

“Only sometimes to annoy you,” he says, and Steve raises one eyebrow.

“In answer to your question,” he says, “my fleshlight is in the closet. If you really meant it, twist the end tight for me, I wanna feel it.”

James nods, gets up to go fetch it. 

“Of course I meant it,” he says, and he cleans his hand off on a wipe, then gets up.

He retrieves the fleshlight from the box of non-regular toys (all the ones they use on the regular live in the nightstand, just like at Steve’s place in Brooklyn) and comes back with it. And a few more things, now he knows where they stand on what-to-do-this-afternoon. 

He drops the couple of other things - namely a vibrating plug and a bullet vibe - onto the bed near Steve’s leg, alongside the long, slim finger-vibrator he put there before they started. Steve doesn’t even lift his head to check, and James smiles at Steve - who’s lying with his hands folded on his abdomen and his eyes closed, cock still hard enough that it’s hovering over his lower belly. His skin, from his navel to his thighs, is slick in a lot of places with either lube or come, but he lies still and waits for James. 

“I mean it, y’know,” James says, getting back on the bed so he can lube up the fleshlight. “I love you. I don’t mean like ‘you’re nice’ or ‘I’m having fun,’ I mean I love you.”

“Me too,” Steve answers, opening his eyes halfway. “It’s not just something to say.”

And James certainly knows that much. Steve’s loved a few people very deeply and, for the most part, had them torn away from him. For Steve to give that love again is _huge_ , and for a man who’s lost everyone and woken up in a different world, for a man to whom the world has done so much, on whom life has inflicted such great pains, for a man who’s fought aliens and nazis and robots and natural disasters to trust James like this is near unfathomable.

“I’m so lucky,” James says, and Steve shakes his head, lifts a hand.

“We both are,” he says. “I was startin’ to think they were gonna write ‘confirmed batchelor’ on my headstone.”

James huffs a laugh through his nose and passes his fingertips over the patches of pale, pink skin left from the bullet wounds.

“How ‘bout we don’t talk about your headstone,” he says. “I know you can’t spread your legs, can you get your right one out a little?”

Steve thinks about it for a second and then bends his right leg at the knee, tilts it outward a little as he plants his foot on the mattress. It moves his legs, means that he’s not putting any strain on his hip, but it also means that James can get lube on his index and middle fingers and just about press the tips to Steve’s hole. He has to get lube all over Steve’s skin to get between his cheeks when he’s lying on his back like this, but there’s tons of varying liquids on him already, so it’s not exactly new. He gets the pads of his fingers against the furled flesh, and then wiggles them a little to get inside without getting inside, just beginning to push the tips of his fingers in.

Steve moans, bends his knee a little more and James feels him clench already.

“Please, kid,” he says, swiping his hand down his torso, “feels like I’m burnin’ on the inside.”

“You’re tight,” James says. “We ain’t done _shit_ in three weeks-”

“Just one,” Steve says, “just one, start with one-”

“Can you?” James says. “I’ll give it if you promise you can take it-”

“Charlie,” Steve says. “Charlie, I promise, just-”

So James eases his middle finger forward, nice and slow, and Steve doesn’t moan and groan at him, doesn’t go still or wind right up immediately, but he does wet his lips, does relax around James’ finger. So James finds his prostate and massages in the small, tight circles he mimed before, and _then_ Steve moans at him. He flinches with each pass and starts to make rhythmic little noises, and James…Okay, James is hard anyway but Steve’s hot and tight and James loves how he feels on the inside.

While Steve’s got his eyes closed, James picks up the fleshlight and uses it to scoop up Steve’s cock, sinking the toy down over it once he’s managed to get it over the head, and Steve draws a huge lungful of air on a gasp and then makes a noise resembles utter outrage and totally isn’t that at all.

 _“James!”_ he says, sounding scandalized, and James doesn’t laugh, no he doesn’t.

“Y’okay there, tiger?”

Steve attempts to say several words at once and manages exactly none of them, and James starts jacking him off with the fleshlight while he rubs him from the inside. 

This time, when Steve comes, he goes silent. For a second, James isn’t sure what’s happened, but then Steve’s head rolls and he says, 

“Uh,”very quietly, and then his left shoulder jerks up, his head snaps forward, and hips hips come up to meet the fleshlight hard enough that James - okay yeah, maybe it’s better that they’re not actually putting that kind of strength anywhere near areas of James that might get damaged.

He flops back into the bed a second but then he - his body - does it again, shoulder, head, hips coming up hard. They stay that way for a good few seconds, too, up off the bed as though he can’t draw back, and then he flops back down again and groans, long and low and so different to his voice not a minute before that the hair rises on the back of James’ neck. 

“Good?” he says, and Steve says, 

“Oh God,” so quietly, and in such a drawn-out way, that James takes a second or two to understand that it’s actually words. 

James smiles. It’s a nice way to start what promises to be a well-spent afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy M*A*S*H reference, for those of you with me. Happy La Bohème reference for those of you who actually understood my terrible Mimi tiny hand is frozen etc jokes, my sense of humor is bad.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Welcome to the end of the second arc in this series!** If you’ve been reading non-stop, please have a walk around, grab a glass of water, take a bathroom break. If you’re reading when you should be watching traffic, stop it, I want you to be safe and this fic will still be here when you arrive safely at your destination.
> 
> **All your lovely comments are so kind! If you have anything you'd like to ask about this fic, or any of my other fics, please feel free to come and ask me on tumblr - my username's the same there - and I'll be happy to chat!**
> 
> Here is [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) if you'd like to know the dates of the occurrences in this fic up to part 10, and here is a [a link to the next part of the timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/cb64da10fd7e3bf9ece90992c80a6c7f/tumblr_pnkd4q2uSH1s2056to1_500.png) from part 11 to 21.
> 
> If you’d like rare updates, I’m @justanononline on twitter these days. @ me to get my attention.


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